


The Way to a Man's Heart

by kisahawklin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff, Food, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Sam gives Cas relationship advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way to a Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omens/gifts).



> Ugh, yeah, this is your fault, omens. This is what your prompt wrought. I take no blame whatsoever. Also, many thanks to soleta, without whom this would not actually have gotten done.

It's not really the noise. Noise in the bunker usually means Cas because he's welrdly unaware of how loud he can be and what a normal amount of sound is for a single being in the bunker.

No, the clanging and banging isn't the weird part – it's the fact that it's coming from the _kitchen_. The last unexpected visitor in the kitchen gave Dean nightmares about sparkly blood for weeks.

Sam shows up at Dean's door, in pajamas and bare feet, but without any alarm on his face. He must think it's Cas, too. Dean nods at him as he goes off to investigate, but Sam just comes back a few minutes later and shrugs. "Cas," he says, and sleepily wanders back down the hallway. 

Dean turns onto his side, burrowing his ear into the pillow and wrapping it around his head. When that doesn't work, he puts his headphones on and tries to let the music soothe him back to sleep. Unfortunately, not even Metallica can keep out Cas's banging.

Finally, when it's clear Cas isn't going to stop and Dean isn't going to get any more sleep, he gets up and throws on his robe. It's too early to try and be coordinated enough to get dressed without coffee.

He ambles down to the kitchen, listening more closely to the sounds, trying to see if he can place the various noises. There's a mixer running and obviously unevenly packed as it's got a thump every once in a while that doesn't match the rhythm of the stirring. He hears a scrape that's almost definitely pulling a pan off the burner, and then a scurry of footsteps, the clang of something being dropped into the sink, running water, and a hiss as it hits something hot.

Dean takes a deep breath and braces himself. He has a bad feeling he's going to be cleaning the kitchen for _days_.

"Cas," he says, trying and failing to squash the smile on his face as Cas whirls around, ineffectually hiding a smoking pan behind his back. It's dripping water on the floor.

"Whatcha doing?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head pointedly at the frying pan.

"Oh," Cas says, the way he does when he considers lying for a second and a half. His face falls and he brings out the pan, setting it back down in the sink. "I was attempting to cook you breakfast."

As Dean's eye travels around the kitchen, he can see the remains of at least six failed experiments – a few floury calamities that are probably pancakes and some kind of attempt at sweet baked goods, at least three different eggy disasters, one of which has left three or four eggs on the floor in the middle of the room, and the blackened pan definitely has a whiff of bacon to it. 

"Why?" Dean asks, because he can't imagine how Cas would have even come up with the idea of trying to cook him breakfast.

"Sam said the way to your heart was through your stomach. I informed him that is incorrect, but he explained it's a metaphor that simply means food inspires affection."

"Uh," Dean says, because that's twenty or thirty words that were definitely in English and should make some sort of sense in his brain, but he can't seem to make them fit together.

"I apologize," Cas says, looking miserable. "I suppose I hadn't expected cooking to take any particular skill. It seems I will have to seek affection some other way."

"Beer," Dean says, even as he tries to figure out what's coming out of his mouth. "Beer works better."

The misery on Cas's face moves through confusion into a bright smile, one Dean's never seen before, and one he thinks he might enjoy seeing again. When he's not cranky from lack of sleep and possibly making poor decisions about his life.

"Here," he says, taking the pan out of Cas's hand. "Leave the cooking to the professionals."


End file.
